


Rebel Yell

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Once a year, Bill Weasley and Luna Lovegood meet at Shell Cottage - a home long since abandoned when Bill returned to Egypt after the war. Each time they meet, they discuss their year's adventures and discoveries. It's during these visits that Bill remembers what it is to live and to be free.*Winner: Best Smut - Sing Me A Rare B-Side, Fairest of the Rare





	1. What Sets You Free

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Rebel Yell by Billy Idol
> 
> This piece was part of the Sing Me A Rare B:Side OS Competition Spring/Summer 2018. I had a choice of song and I could choose my own pairing. All characters, spells, magical equipment and locations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.
> 
> I'd like to thank my alpha/beta combo, the awesome, MelodyLePetite. <333

**Part One: What Sets You Free**

_She don’t like slavery, she won’t sit and beg  
But, when I’m tired and lonely she sees me to bed   
What set you free and brought you to me, babe   
What sets you free, I need you here by me   
Because, in the midnight hour she cried more, more, more   
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more   
-Billy Idol, Rebel Yell_

 

England is home in the same way that his favorite jumper is cozy; predictable, comforting, and with the sort of familiarity that often accompanies returning to a place he's longed to be all along. Egypt is brilliant, but England is home. Shell Cottage is where his soul dwells, wading through the crashing waves of the ocean, warming under the uninhibited sunlight, dancing along the breeze that flutters through the expanse of sea lavender. He likes to think that his soul is so free, because Merlin knows that his heart is not.

He ran from England to escape a boring life, where he was forced to sit at a desk and review paperwork and practice in theoretical curse-breaking. He ran to Egypt to explore the pyramids, to envelop himself in ancient mysteries, and risk his life in ways that made him feel alive. As he looks over the land of Shell Cottage, though, Bill longs for a moment where his two lives can meet and provide the only existence he's willing to settle for. Shell Cottage, while modest and homely, harbors secrets and history - a different sort of risk.

His feet drag through the sand, tired and aching from the trek from his closest apparition point. Bill doesn't want to apparate anyway. Wizards spend so much time cutting corners that they forget the beauty they lose along the way. If he'd apparated, he would miss the sea lavender's scent on the air mixing with the salty spray of the water. He'd miss the song of the wind as it scraped along the distant cliffs and swept through the hollow caverns. He'd miss the glinting sunlight off of her hair as it blew around her shoulders.

She is here just as she is every year, standing over the house-elf's grave with a yellow flower in her hand. Her body hovering both protectively and mournfully even as her white sweater billows behind her like a cape or a wave of surrender. Luna is many things, but most of all she is free and alive and everything he wants to see in this moment. As if his approach fractured a split second of the wind's song, she looks at him. Her eyes are so wide that she appears startled, but it's her way of looking at the world, she told him once. "My eyes are bigger so that I can see more." And she can see straight to the depths of him, he told her.

Her lips lift recklessly and his heart stutters. It's been a year but he wants her no less than he did then and the year before that and Merlin, the year before that.  Five years he's wanted her, his soul clinging to her, his inner wolf beckoning her soul to his, here at Shell Cottage where they both find hope and peace and freedom. He feels his cheeks lift to greet her in return, a hand raising slowly into the air as his feet continue to drag through the warm sand of the land. He's assaulted by the scents of world around him but he's absolutely obliterated by the innocent smile on her face. She doesn't even know, just keeps glancing over her shoulder with that open happiness at his presence. He's disarmed by her and it's everything he wants to feel. Helpless, but comfortable and familiar and _home_.

His pace increases without any effort, like a magnet destined to its other half he has no choice but to get to her now and be there until they're forced apart once again. Bills reaches her and there's no hesitation or moment of worry or pang of guilt, just him and her and her heart and his soul and _isn't that enough_?

He's all arms and she's all hair and they're hugging and laughing and smiling and the wind is singing louder around them and he's finally happy and free again. He's breathless, wrapping her up in his arms, swinging her around once like a rag doll and then setting her on her ballerina slippers that are probably filled with sand from the beach. She points to his face with its longer beard and she chews her lip under a smile because she never did like his bald face and he grew it just for her, just for today. He clasps her hand and runs it over his cheek, closing his eyes at the way her soft fingers thread through the ginger roots and tug gently at it as if proving it's real and not stuck on by magic.

"It suits you," she says as if she knew it would all along.

He makes a noise of agreement somewhere in his throat and yanks on her hand to pull her toward the cottage. "Have you been waiting long?"

He thinks it's a trick of the wind when she says, "An entire year."

The house smells abandoned, overtaken by the sea. It smells of her, of the adventures she's surely had while they've been parted. Somehow her scent follows him everywhere, even in the places only he's been and where they rarely go. It's the earth and it's life and it's Luna and so precious to him that Bill can only watch as she enters the kitchen and searches through the cupboard for their favorite bottle of whisky. Glasses be damned, he's told her before but she'll pull out two coffee mugs and splash the amber liquid inside with a smile.

Bill sits at the table next to her, never across from her, and leans back. He's relaxed, but afraid it's a trick of the mind and so he pretends to be relaxed if only to hope that he is relaxed. His booted foot rests at an angle against the table stand and he drapes an arm on the back of the chair. Collected, and entirely nervous. He offers her a full smile as she clinks her mug against his and he's rewarded with the most beautiful grin in return. His heart shatters and he knows for certain he's not relaxed. He's a mess. He missed her more than he admitted this year and now she's here and fucking hell, he probably can't let her go this time.

"To those we've lost," she says before tipping the contents past her lips and down the smooth, porcelain expanse of her throat.

He eyes her over the bottom of his glass as he tips his away, too. He can't hide the sadness of his losses from her. That's how everything started; his family was too wrapped up in the loss and rightfully so, but when you're a Weasley, your loss is shared and halved, but with Luna it could be full and honest and fucking painful. She reads his thoughts but her eyes don't show melancholy like a disease when he's surrounded by Fleur and his parents and his siblings. Instead they show hope and understanding and the promise of peace, if only for today.

After his second taste of whisky, he finally says through a thick knot in his throat, "To those we've lost."

Luna is appeased and flushed at the tips of her cheeks where the alcohol forces her blood to pool. The sight draws his eyes and he lets go of a breath through a small break in his lips. He remembers the last time he saw the red stain on her cheeks, eyes clenched shut as she moved above him. He adjusts himself discreetly by pulling his foot to rest atop his knee, hoping to shield his unrelenting desire from her eyes. She knows, of course, would call it out as she always did. She's unembarrassed by desire in a way that only single people can be. But if Fleur knew, Merlin she'd roast him on the end of a pike.

"You broke into a new antechamber in Giza." Luna's big blue eyes dip to the apex of his thighs and back to his eyes again. She doesn't mention the uncomfortable problem clearly pressed against the fabric of his trousers. "Did you find anything interesting?"

Bill swallows around the sudden dry patch in his throat and nods. "The sarcophagus of an acromantula and a jade wand resting beside it."

At this, she raises both brows high on her forehead. "The famed Agelena?"

Bill smiles at her excitement. "She still has stars in her eyes."

"Crikey, I need to remember to tell Rolf-"

He doesn't notice the growl creeping through his mouth until it's too late to take back and then it's his face that's blushing because he's never claimed her as his and this Rolf bloke was nothing more than a colleague. Still, he is annoyed that her first thought is spared for him and not for someone like her father or the audience of The Quibbler - which he reads and he loves if only because he follows her travels and knows how she's doing because they don't use owls and they don't communicate, but he likes to pretend that she's left him messages in her articles - and _Rolf_ can mean that she doesn't if it means she's falling for him. It's greedy and selfish and he has no room for jealousy because Fleur is waiting for him in Egypt but he didn't think about _this_ and the possibilities after the war and the loss when he married Fleur.

"He's brilliant," she explains but it only makes him tense more. Shoulders as stiff as the third drink he's pouring down his throat. "But he's not you and it's not this."

It is so simple, so brutally honest and dammit if he doesn't toss his mug aside and reach forward to the bottom of her chair and pull her into the space created between his legs. His hands are on her bare knees, round the softness of her thighs, and his nose is at her throat when she takes a deep breath and tangles her fingers in his hair. She smells like the sea and the forest and the breeze and it's everything. There's nothing he can do to fight his desperation for her as his fingers curl against her smooth skin and his nose runs the length of her throat to the lobe of her ear. His breathing is ragged from her and the drink and his jealousy. He whispers her name, a plea for her to allow him this one time for the fifth time.

"You're so beautiful it hurts." Like she's reading his thoughts, the words tumble from his lips and it's all he needs to capture them in his and then he's lost to her.

His hands wrap into her pale locks of hair. He stands and pulls her with him, his lips dictating a furious pattern over hers and his tongue pressing so fully into her mouth that she gasps and melts into his body. She's all curves and softness against his angles and hardness and when she hitches her leg to wrap around his hip he's hissing into her mouth and grinding against her cotton-covered core. It's in her whimper that he grounds himself, the barely-there cry of need for him, that sets his soul free and careening and spinning wildly, unhindered and bare.

As he slams her against the counter, he loses his shirt. Scars on display, but she doesn't look at them. Her fingers trail their paths as they've done so many times before. A ghost of a touch while her lips leave his to kiss a path down to his collarbone. She's fascinated with his bones and with his scars and with his almost-lycanthropy. It spurs her on, makes her latch on harder to the pulse point below his ear and tease her teeth against his skin. Her hands are everywhere and his hands are holding her so close because he's afraid that if he pulls away she'll suddenly remember what a mess he really is and she'll run and then he'll have nothing at all to bring his soul to life.

As if she'd think about leaving and he could stop her if she tried, Bill's hand finally extricates itself from her hair and travels down the length of her torso. It's possessive and its greedy and it burns his skin with the heat of want, need, _must have_ that's dictating his every move. He ends at the hem of her dress and drags it up and over her head so fast she couldn't move to help him remove it before it's on the floor and completely forgotten.

His fingers find her wanting just as desperately as he is when he removes her knickers. He's slick on his first pass and then coated with her desire as he presses into her once, twice, and three times faster and more erratic each time because she's moving her hips to meet his hand and she's breathing so heavy against his ear. He only wants to hear her come apart because it will silence the piece of him that's wondering and worried and guilty. He circles his thumb and she cries out and he could go deaf at the sound but still feel profoundly proud that he pulled that uninhibited sound from her lungs while she stole her orgasm from his hand.

He smiles against her lips, mirroring her expression exactly. She reaches for him and he lets her remove his trousers and his underwear but he clasps her hands together when she tries to take hold of him. He isn't prepared to be done with the evening so soon and while he is still a young, capable bloke that can get an erection more than once a night, he's also been aching for her for an entire year and doesn't want to go off early the very second that she wraps her hand around him.

"I want to touch you, Bill." It's a whisper and a whine and so certain that it's what she needs that his resolve crashes and burns and he lets go of her hands.

Before she can slide her hand against him, he lifts her by the hips. "Wrap your legs around me, love. That's it, perfect."

He walks backward one step until he's cleared the dinette and then he spins them around so that her back is to the wall. As she positions herself _just right_ at his tip, Bill presses her back into the wood wall and grips the planks beside her head and thrusts. It's glorious and they both moan at the feel of him filling her. He can't move for it being so perfect and just what he's needed and everything he's searched for. Not moving until her fingers claw at his shoulders and she's begging him with her kisses and her moans and her hips trying to gain friction against him.

"Merlin, I can't hold out for long," he tells her through gritted teeth as pulls and pushes half a dozen times. "You're so beautiful, Luna. So fucking..."

She grinds down at his words and she yells her release but she's not stopping, pulling him toward his own climax. He grunts and moans and breathes heavy against her cheek as he pummels forward and gives over to the animal instinct inside of him. She's begging him to let go, to release, to give himself to her and to come undone. She's whimpering words like "more" and "faster" and "Merlin, Bill."

He comes with her name on his lips and his sweat soaked hair sticking to hers and it's the most alive he's felt in three hundred sixty five days, so he peppers her neck with wet kisses. She's giggling as he bounces off of a wall and grips the back of her thighs and he carries her to his bedroom because there's no way he's done with her yet.

He may never be done with her.


	2. I'd Sell My Soul

**Part Two: I'd Sell My Soul**

 

_I walked the ward with you, babe_   
_A thousand miles with you_   
_I dried your tears of pain, babe_   
_A million times for you_   
_I’d sell my soul for you, babe_   
_For money to burn for you_   
_I’d give you all and have none, babe_   
_Justa, justa, justa, justa have you here by me_   
_-Billy Idol, Rebel Yell_

 

He grabs her by the wrists and presses his body over hers. Luna’s veins thrum with the excitement of holding his weight, shifting under the angles, melding her soft places to his hard planes. Her back arches and she’s contorted in and around him so that there’s no escaping the feel of him, the desire he pours into every single kiss and stroke and hot breath against her neck. It’s out of her control, the way that she begs him for more and she’s louder every time he pulls away before thrusting himself to the hilt inside of her. She’s a fucking mess for him even when she can see that he’s giving her everything and it will never, ever be enough. He’s wild and she’s turning feral, snagging her teeth against his chest and squeezing her nails down the muscles in his back.  
  
A deep rumble in his chest draws her attention to him. Her eyes are blue and big and taking in every shade of color from the copper of his hair to the peach of his cheek. He’s wearing a mischievous smirk and he slows down to a frustrating pace as he takes her hands in his. Their fingers are tangled together and he’s using all his weight to pull himself away and arrange her body onto his. Luna wraps her fingers into his hair and impales like it’s the last thing she’s ever going to do. She’s rocking on his lap and every time he squeezes his fingers against the round flesh of her bottom she’s breathing noises that are supposed to be words but fall short.  
  
Every time his beard scrapes against her collarbone, she’s on the keen edge of a cliff about to plummet and then his lips are swallowing the desperate pleas for release. When he finally, finally snaps his hips against hers and throws her into a free fall, she’s begging and crying out and gripping him so tightly around the neck. The fierce grinding of her body against his stops after her entire soul shatters in time with his, and Bill is holding her so close that she’s not sure if it’s his heart or hers that is pounding against her chest.  
  
They don’t move, not for a long time and well after he went soft inside her. Even when they’re no longer clawing to get impossibly closer to one another, they are still touching and feeling and refusing to be parted for longer than it takes to fall into the mattress and climb beneath the duvet.  
  
It’s all going to end in a few hours and she knows it every time she meets him at Shell Cottage but she can’t stop herself. He’s everything. This one night, every five years, it’s how she feels her heart beat and how she knows that her soul is on this earth. No one is more sure of themselves as Luna is when she’s wrapped up in Bill Weasley’s arms.

She doesn't need a conventional life. No husband, no mortgage, no bank account that ties her to one place for the rest of her life. She's not restless, either. Content to explore and discover and adapt and leave things behind. Her soul, though, that is its own life force. It needs to breathe and it needs to know and it needs a logical plan of action because surely she can get lost and overrun by the world if she isn’t tethered to life by something or someone.

She looks at Bill as he sleeps and she knows he's the tether. He's the piece of rope that's there for her to grasp before she floats so far away that she can't find her way back. Every breath he expels as he dreams is one that she catches in her memories and holds and squeezes and clings to so that she can remember when it's time to come home she'll have him and this and  _ isn't that enough _ ?

He reaches for her in his sleep and she curls around him. He's all arms and legs and she's all heart and hair as she winds against him and listens to the sound of his heart as it thump, thump, thumps against her chest. This is where she's free and where she's whole and it's home when nowhere else in the world can offer her such a luxury. But it will end as it always does and she'll travel to Croatia or Iceland or Peru and he'll go back to Egypt to his family where his wife is waiting. She doesn't blame him because this has been the arrangement all along and she forgives him when he begs for it. She loves him, and she thinks that she knows he loves her, too. 

It's not conventional and it's hard and it hurts but it's life and it's so tragic but beautiful, and she can live with that. Because she's Luna Lovegood and life hasn't been fair to her but that doesn't mean that she can't see what it's meant to be and all it can offer, if she can only open her eyes and see all the lovely imperfections.

His breath warms a spot on her neck. She can smell the earth on him, the coppers and minerals and the remnants of water that rains down upon it. He's of the mountain, this man, and he's bigger than life itself, and he smells like it and looks just as gorgeous with his scars inlaid like a landslide that can't be stopped by even a giant's hands. 

"You're staring," he tells her in a sleepy, heavy voice. 

"You're being stared at," she counters in a playful whisper as her hands sweep the hair from his forehead. 

It never occurs to her to be nervous or embarrassed or anything other than completely smitten with Bill. Similar to the way that one can’t feel ashamed or anxious about the sunrise or a gust of wind. Forces of nature can't be stopped and that's what Bill is, a force of nature and one so unstoppable that she's come to him every year since the end of the war without any hesitation at all. 

He smiles that Weasley smile, the one that lifts at one corner and looks sheepish and filled with humor that he's only sharing with her. She likes him most like this, at peace and whole and sated. She likes herself most like this, too, pieced back together after being demolished by his touch. It's these moments when it's quiet and they've shared a bed that she thinks they might be able to make this work somehow. 

If she tried, and if he wanted, Luna could settle her heart here and stay forever.


End file.
